Stillframes
by Molly Myles
Summary: Short little scenes that take place in the Wandering Stars 'verse (unless otherwise noted). Not all will be fluff, this is more of a 'fleshing out'. Destiel included, but not exclusive. Some of these are prompts from the '30 day challenge' as posted on Tumblr, and some are just random scenes that don't fit into the main fics of the series.
1. Holding Hands

Blue California sky stretched out overhead like a luminous mist over the expanse of the crowded market. Booths purveying goods from across the region spread out in all directions, produce stands, novelty items, textiles; everything one could imagine and more in a colourful and noisesome display of human commerce at its most direct. The air was thick with the scent of fried foods, sun warmed fruits and livestock, swirling in the eddies from the passage of innumerable bodies on the hard-packed Earthen pathways.

Shoppers browse shoulder to shoulder, peering from behind dark lenses at the often meaningless goods on display as barkers call out for cattle auctions. They sift through bins or enjoying the respite of battered and fried confections, creating the living ebb and tide of a living ocean on the outskirts of Roseville California.

One could find almost anything in Denio's Market, from religious artifacts to fishing boats. It was also a handy resource for the hunting community, if one knew where to look and who to ask. In a place like this, merchants of the occult were able to conceal themselves as just another novelty among the ethnic booths and cultural shops.

It was a dizzying, noisy, colourful place, and one could easily become lost.

Such as Castiel had found himself, pressed against a pillar of one of the many fruit stands that lined the dirt walkway, watching the sun-tanned masses mill past him with wary regard.

Sam had suggested it, that they stop and pick up a few ingredients and components for the myriad of spells the hunters worked on occasion to refill their stocks. Dean had agreed, insisting in compromise that they try the 'fried pie' stand.

Castiel had been close behind them, trying not to allow himself to be enthralled by the colours and the scents and the sounds of the busy place. He had turned his attention away from Dean's back for only a moment, and when he looked again the brothers were simply nowhere to be seen.

A few weeks ago, it would have been simple to find them; just a thought away. Now that he had fallen, burned away his Grace, all that he had left were his senses and his guile, all of which now failed him as he desperately searched the crowd.

It would be futile, he reasoned, to try and search the market himself. Logic insisted that if he were moving around as they were, the chances he would miss them were exponential. But what if they were staying still as well? It was frustrating to be so limited in mobility, confined to three dimensions as he now was.

He carefully maintained his breathing, scanning above the crowd with his eyes for the familiar mop of sun-streaked brown hair. Spotting Sam should be no great task, as the younger Winchester towered above most, but his efforts remained unrewarded as his hope dwindled. He didn't know how long it had been since he'd lost them in the crowd, at least twenty minutes, perhaps longer. He tried not to panic as he realised he had not been apart from his friends for so long since he fell.

Every muscle tensed as he felt a hand grip his shoulder, spinning wide-eyed to face his attacker – only to be met by a pair of worried, slightly irritated green eyes.

The former angel exhaled his relief, letting the tension out of his shoulders as he welcomed the familiar visage.

"Dean," he smiled, barely a twitch at the corners of his mouth.

"The _hell_, Cas," Dean gritted out, his tone radiating with the anger that Castiel knew to be a mask for worry. "I told you to stick close to us, Jesus, man! I thought I lost you..."

"I'm sorry, Dean."

The hunter sighed, releasing the chastised angel's shoulder, and smiled. "Come on, Sammy found what he was looking for, now we're gonna go get fried pie!"

Having found his angel, Dean relaxed, the angry tension from his frantic worry evaporating as they turned to join the crowd once more. He grabbed Castiel's hand, lacing their fingers to intertwine.

Castiel raised an eyebrow at the hunter, glancing down at their joined hands.

Dean blushed faintly, setting his jaw and turning his eyes forward, away from the questioning gaze of the fallen angel.

"Just so you don't wander off again," he offered lamely.

"Of course, Dean," Castiel replied with a tangible smile. "I won't."


	2. Cuddling

At the bottom of the ninth, Seattle and Minnesota were tied, bases loaded, and extra innings were looking likely as the final pitch was thrown. The batter swung and struck out, sending both teams back to their pits as the umpire called the end of the round.

Suddenly, something flopped against Dean's side, a warm weight beside him on the motel room bed that immediately latched onto his side like a man shaped leech.

Cas never asked for what he wanted. Not once since they'd begun their awkward pseudo-relationship-thing a couple of months before.

The fallen angel observed, inching toward what he wanted until he met resistance, and then he simply took.

As was the case with cuddling.

At first it was merely proximity, slowly wheedling away at Dean's personal space until they sat shoulder to shoulder in a diner booth, or inching up against the hunter's side in bed. It wasn't long before Cas simply demanded what he wanted, without words, crowding himself into Dean's territorial bubble and getting as close as he could, clinging like a sloth.

It wasn't an all the time thing. Dean found that it was more often when Cas was having a low night, when Inias hadn't checked in for a while, or if the subject of angelic activity came up, or a memory that invoked the image of Castiel, angel of the Lord as he had been before burning away his Grace when he'd left Heaven.

Dean glanced down at his side, the angel's eyes closed, head resting against the hunter's chest, eyebrows drawn slightly together, tension subtly etched into his brow. The hunter sighed, pulling his arm free from between himself and the former angel clinging to his side and running his fingers through the other man's coarse, dark hair.

He wasn't good at talking about this stuff, which was just as well since Cas didn't like talking about it either. The one time he had opened up to Dean about what was eating him, he'd said that being connected to Heaven had been like a singularity - he and his brothers were separate individuals, but so much was shared between the Host, a mingling of celestial intent.

Dean imagined it was hard for Cas to be so shut out of that some times, feeling small and finite when he'd once been infinitely powerful (the size of the freakin' Chrysler building, are you kidding me?).

But now here he was, just another (more or less) human in a sea of humans, lonely and a little broken, clinging to his favourite human for comfort. It wasn't something he'd asked for, he merely took what he needed from Dean, knowing that Dean wouldn't push him away anymore, or heckle him about 'personal space'.

No matter how much better Cas got at being human, he was still hurting from the loss of such a huge part of him, something that had been ingrained in his being since the dawn of time, for all Dean knew. He wasn't going to let his angel suffer through it alone.

And besides, he'd never admit it to his brother, but he kind of liked it when Cas was being clingy.

Without a word, Dean put his arms around Castiel, pulling him closer and brushing his fingers lightly through his angel's hair as Seattle took the outfield at the top of the tenth.


	3. Gaming

Charlie Bradbury was many things; hacker, scam artist, Queen of the Nerds, and added recently to that list; friend of Dean Winchester. There weren't many that Dean counted as a friend, but Charlie, badass that she was, had quickly worked her way into that niche.

After the fiasco in California, Dean, Sam and the recently fallen Castiel headed out to Farmington Hills, Michigan to take care of a few loose ends; namely establishing his identity, since it seemed like the ex-angel was going to be sticking around. To be honest, Dean was a little excited to see Charlie again - she was a pretty classy chick, and Dean found it easy to hang out with her like one of the dudes.

"Sup, lady-dude," the hunter greeted, grinning ear to ear as the red haired woman opened the door, staring at the three men on her front porch.

Charlie grinned back, punching Dean in the arm playfully and stepping back out of the way, inviting them in.

"You guys are kinda early," she said, closing the door and following them into the kitchen. "Like, by a whole day."

"Yeah, well, we made good time," Dean shot back. "By the way, Charlie, this is Cas. Cas, Charlie, most badass nerd chick I've ever known. She helped us get Dick."

"Ugh," Charlie rolled her eyes. "Please, I don't even want to think about Dick Roman or Leviathans or any of that stuff. Anyway, so like I was saying... um, you guys are kinda early, and..."

"Hey, Charlie!" a voice rang up the stairs from the basement, the door to which they currently stood in front of. "We're out of Cheetos! And can I grab one of your Mountain Dews?"

The brothers exchanged a look, which settled into raised eyebrows aimed at the petit redhead.

Charlie laughed lamely, rubbing the back of her neck. "So, um, we have some room at the table, you guys wanna play D&D?"

[XXXXXX]

Four hours later (three of which were spent explaining to the fallen angel the purpose of the game, and why it was 'fun'), crowded around a long wooden table in the basement of Charlie's house, a rogue, a palladin and a cleric joined with a wizard, a warrior and a thief as they stormed the ruins of Myth Drannor.

"I'm gonna five-foot step and uh, attack of opportunity on the, uh, the 'hobgoblin' with my dagger," the rogue declared, rolling the black twenty-sided die on the grid map. "Nineteen? Oh, um, plus 3?"

"Critical hit, roll two D6."

"... Two what? Oh, right, the Yahtzee one... ... four and three?"

"Congratulations, you killed a thing, finally. Cleric's turn."

"I will heal Dean."

"Deanicus," the palladin interjected.

"He doesn't even need to be healed," the rogue complained. The warrior and the thief seemed to be in agreement.

"He's at full health," the wizard advised, "why don't you cast Bane or something on the enemy, instead?"

"Would that be wise?" the cleric asked the palladin, seeking confirmation.

"Fuck, I dunno, Cas- why not? Go for it."

"Then I will cast... Bane."

The cleric rolled the green twenty sided die on the table in front of him.

"You don't have to roll for a cast," the wizard admonished, "you just mark one off your spells per day."

"Oh," the cleric shrugged.

"Will check," the thief announced from behind the dungeon screen. "All of the enemies are now hesitant and afraid. Nice move, Spock. Palladin, you're up."

"I wanna kick that dude in the face," the palladin announced, "and knock him into that pit."

"Roll it, Deanicus," the thief approved with a smirk.

The die was cast, landing with the twenty side up.

"Nice, critical! You kick that mofo in the teeth, knocking him backwards into the thirty foot deep pit."

"THIS. IS. SPARTA!" the palladin bellowed proudly.

"Um, I believe it is 'Myth Drannor'," the cleric corrected.

"Genius is lost on you, Cas."

The game went well on into the night, the heroes slashing and fighting their way through the desolate ruins until, sadly, the party was wiped out in three rounds of combat against a beholder.

In the end, it had been fun. Not as fun as LARPing, but Dean was glad to have the chance to show Cas some of the more recreational activities that came along with being human.

.

(**AN: **I'm not ashamed to admit that many of my game sessions go something like this.)


	4. On a Date

As he sat at the table across from the fallen angel in the white t-shirt, black jeans and black pinstripe waistcoat in the uptown Italian Bistro, looking every bit as uncomfortable as the hunter felt, Dean considered the ramifications of fratricide. Honestly, he would only kill Sam a little bit.

They were all supposed to meet up for dinner after they'd run through their respective jobs; Cas and Sam had gone to the library to look up local lore on a particular coven of witches from the late 1700s that might be resurfacing, and Dean had gone to do the legwork with a couple of the victims. Sam had sent him a text fifteen minutes before they were supposed to meet, saying that he wouldn't be able to make it due to a lead. Cas had been there when he'd arrived, however, and Dean had to wonder how much time they'd spent at the library and how much time they'd spent at the mall, if the brand new attire was any indication.

Though, he had to admit; the get up that Sam had convinced Cas to wear was pretty freakin' hot, and it was kind of a nice change to see the unruly mop of dark hair combed and styled for once. So maybe he wouldn't kill Sam after all. Maybe he'd just mangle him a bit.

"Hello, Dean," Cas had greeted when Dean had arrived, still in his FBI digs. He'd looked awkward, as unsure of himself as he'd seemed in the first week or so he'd been human, as self-conscious as a shaved cat without his bulky trench coat and three-piece suit and tie.

Of course it was obvious what Sam was up to here. He'd been pestering them for a couple of weeks to 'for God's sake, just go on a real freaking date, just once' whenever they'd had some down time. This whole thing between himself and the fallen angel had been unconventional at best, and they were both still pretty new at it. So in the end, perhaps it wasn't such a bad thing to do something normal for a change.

Something normal couples do.

_Couples_.

Shit. Were he and Cas a _couple_?

The thought still freaked him out a little, even though it'd been kind of sort of official for, like, a month now. Sam knew. Charlie knew. Heaven knew. Hell, Garth and Kevin probably knew, and they hadn't even been out toward Warsaw since before their third wheel had shown up.

He noticed Castiel fidgeting and wondered if the angel was thinking along the same lines he was, that this was awkward, way too public for either of them. Cas wasn't a huge fan of crowds, but this place was pretty small and intimate. Maybe Cas just didn't know what this was supposed to be about, wasn't sure what they were supposed to be doing. It wasn't uncommon for the fallen angel to feel out of his depth in respects to human social interactions like this.

Then again, maybe he _did _know. Thinking about it, Dean realised that Sam had probably conspired with the angel beforehand, coaching him and advising him. If he'd gone through all the trouble to give Cas the million-dollar-makeover treatment and set all this up, then...

_Wow, how much of a jerk are you, Winchester?_ he thought to himself, putting on a smile and forcing himself to relax.

The response from Cas was immediate as he noticed the hunter loosen up; his shoulders untensing as he smiled back tentatively, his blue eyes lighting up with something akin to hope and adoration.

So what if this was a date? It was just him and Cas and an Italian restaurant full of people they didn't know, didn't care if they judged, and they would likely never see any of them again.

He reached across the table, grasping one of Castiel's hands, stilling his twitching fingers with a smile.

Sure, fine, whatever. Dean could do a date. Why the hell not?

As long as his angel was happy.


	5. Kissing

Sam was out, they were in, and there was not a damned thing on television.

As a rule, they generally tried to keep their make-out sessions to the times when Sam was on a food run, or at the library. In other words, when Dean knew his little brother was going to be out for a while.

It wasn't like it was secret or anything, he just wasn't much of an exhibitionist. Cas didn't have many qualms over displaying affection in front of the younger Winchester, but to appease Dean's macho image, he usually complied.

And so it was that Sam walked in on his brother and the fallen angel, totally entwined in each other on the bed closest to the door, eating each other's faces when he came back from the evening beer run.

"Gah!" he exclaimed, throwing an arm up to shield his eyes after a mere split second's observation. He always dreaded the time he might inadvertently walk in on them doing... other... things...

"In or out, Sammy," Dean audibly rolled his eyes.

"Just tell me you've still got your clothes on at least," Sam complained, nudging the door closed with his foot, arm still shielding his fragile young mind from the horrors of potentially having to observe his brother fornicating with an angel.

"We are both fully clothed, Sam," Castiel offered helpfully. When the younger hunter lowered his arm, Dean was on his feet, switching on the television whilst said angel sat against the headboard, looking decidedly smug.

"You know I don't care if you wanna kiss your angel boyfriend, Dean, but you could at least send me a text if you want a little quality time," Sam grumbled, doling out beers to his compadres.

"Kissing," Dean huffed. "Me and Cas don't _kiss_. Kissing's for girls. We face-battle."

Blue and hazel eyes turned toward the elder Winchester from eerily synchronous bitch-faces.

"What? It's like arm-wrestling, but with tongues, yeah?" Dean shrugged, settling back on the bed and slipping an arm around his angel, grinning at his little brother. "An epic face-battle, except everyone wins in the end."

Castiel shrugged, twisting off the top of his beer and taking a drink, giving Sam a helpless, according look.

"God," Sam sighed, shaking his head, "you guys are the fucking weirdest couple ever."

.

(**A/N: **I'm so doing these out of order and at my own leisure. Prompts are still fun, though :D This exists in no particular timeline within the Wandering Stars 'verse. Definitely some time after California, at least, but otherwise it just stands on its own. I got the idea for the scenario from something a friend of mine posted on Facebook.)


	6. Stargazing

A dark crack splits the Pennsylvania night sky at the centre of the inky-black canvas that stretches to infinity above the dark, tree-lined horizon, spilling brilliant, nebulous light into the vast reaches of space. Few clouds mar the scene above, glowing in the intensity of a billion suns that burn millions of light-years away.

It gives the impression of a negative sunset; white and blue and soft orange light oozing from the core of the Milky Way, awesome and dazzling beautiful, stretching diagonally overhead. It's nearly unfathomable, just how huge everything is, how infinitely small human beings are compared to the stars, which seem themselves so tiny when viewed from the Earth.

Three men perch at a picnic table on a roadside plateau, the only sound for miles the faint trickle of a nearby stream, obscured by the dense trees below and the ticking of the cooling engine behind them. They were alone for miles in every direction, and that was just how they liked it to be; no interference from the mundane world outside their self-styled little family.

Dean loved these moments, when the rest of the world could be put away for just a moment, their problems so small and insignificant in the face of eternity. In another life, he might have been an astronomer, or a cosmologist - studying the stars and planets of the outer reaches of the galaxy, discovering new galaxies and worlds and suns.

He'd never tell his brother any of this; he gave Sam enough crap for being a nerd it would just be ammunition for revenge if the younger Winchester knew that his big brother could spot Betelgeuse and Andromeda without a star atlas, or that he knew the names and locations of dozens of constellations in the Northern Hemisphere.

For all that he knew, however, Cas knew a hundred - a thousand times more.

The former angel points toward a bright star in the Orion constellation and says "Seba-en-Sah."

The two other men turn to look at him, waiting for him to elaborate.

"That Enochian or something?" Sam asks, genuinely curious.

Castiel chuckles softly. "No, it's ancient Egyptian. It means 'toe star'. It's also known as Shenxiu Qi, or Yerrerdet-kurrk. It's always been one of my favourites."

"So, uh, what's that in English?" Dean knows, but asks anyway. It's one of his favourites as well; a star that guides travellers, not as famous as Antares or Sol, but just as important, even if it isn't the most well-known.

Cas smiles knowingly, maybe even a little smug. "Rigel," he says, matter of factly. "My star."

Dean raises an eyebrow at the fallen angel, a disbelieving puff of almost-laughter escaping his lips. "Bullshit. You have your own _star_?"

Cas just smiles wistfully. "There are billions and billions of stars in the universe, Dean. Cultures have assigned personas to celestial bodies for eons before written history, even - when words and knowledge were conveyed in pictures. Is it so hard to believe that I would have been given my own star?"

"All right... okay, Carl Sagan, you made your point," Dean teases, nudging the shorter man with his shoulder playfully, "you get your own star. Anything else I should know about you? Like, do you have like your own planet, too?"

Castiel laughs, leaning against the hunter a bit. "I have a day."

"A day," Sam repeats. "Like, a feast day? Like the saints? Or, like..."

"Thursday," Castiel says simply.

"Thursday," Dean repeats, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes," Cas confirms. "Thursday."

"Castiel, Angel of Thursday," Dean half-teases, though to be honest he thought it was kind of cool.

The hunter puts an arm around his angel, staring upwards as the three of them fell into a companionable silence, gazing out into a sea of suns and worlds in the infinite distance.

.

(**A/N: **Sorry if this one doesn't make much sense, and I took a couple of creative liberties with Rigel. I couldn't find anything to contradict it on wiki or starcharts, so meh. I do what I want! I've got a bit of a cold so I apologize if it's a little rambly. This is for the 'doing things together' prompt. Totally out of sequence and I don't care. ;)


	7. Shopping

It was no great secret that Dean Winchester hated shopping unless it involved food. Even then, he always went in with a plan; he knew what he wanted, generally where to get it, and got out in as little time as he could manage.

Sometimes, though, it was a necessary evil. Such as when your ex-angel-boyfriend-whatever-thing keeps swiping your shirts and jeans because the only ones he'd had met an unfortunate end and were no longer strictly wearable. Not that he _really _minded (maybe a little), since Cas looked all kinds of hot in his shit (especially the threadbare Led Zepp t-shirt, and the old, worn jeans with the hole in the knee), it was just the principle of the matter.

Either way, it was decided that they couldn't live out of one duffel bag forever. And so, ditching Sam (because Sam was still grounded for his most recent shenanigans), Dean loaded Cas into the Impala and they ventured to Goodwill.

[XXXXXX]

Dean couldn't recall the last time he'd spent more than thirty minutes in a store, let alone two _hours_.

It was like Cas had to touch every single item on the rack, inspecting it to some strict criteria consisting of God only knew what. There was no rhyme or reason to what he selected or rejected. About the only thing that any of the items bore in common was colour (primarily black with some dark blue and green) and material (cotton, flannel and denim), which was pretty standard.

"Chrissakes, Cas, just pick some you like in your size, it's not that hard," he complained as hour two ticked steadily on, ignoring the scathing look it earned him from the dedicated bargain shopper the fallen angel was determined to be. "What's so special about these, anyway? You've looked at like a hundred identical shirts that didn't make the grade..."

"They didn't feel right," Cas sighed, clearly done with Dean's eccentricities.

"Dude, it's cotton. It's _all _cotton. How can it not _feel right_?"

"It wasn't like yours," the angel shrugged, as though this was completely obvious.

Dean stared at his companion, an unspoken '_seriously?_' written across his face.

In the end he smiled, though, because... okay. That was kind of cute, if a little weird. Not that he was even about to say that out loud.

After the five billionth rejection and a cart load of crap that, now that Dean looked closely, was pretty much _exactly_ like what _he_ wore, Dean decided that it was time to move on, because now they'd been in the store for almost _three__ hours_. He shoved the fallen angel toward the changing rooms with an arm load of overpriced hand-me-downs and set about waiting for him to get it done with.

While he was waiting, Dean spotted something on a nearby rack that caught his eye. Pulling it free, he gave it a good look over and smiled. It wasn't identical, but it was pretty close - and it looked like it'd fit all right, if maybe a little big, but he didn't think that mattered so much. In fact, he thought it suited Cas just fine. The price was a little high, but the thing almost looked brand new. Dean figured that made up for it a bit.

He stuffed it into the basket out of sight as Cas came back out, looking slightly ruffled and only carrying about half the load he went in with.

"You done now, Princess?" Dean asked, one eyebrow cocked, holding back a grin at the acidic glare he got in response.

They checked out, and somehow Dean's find managed to go unnoticed as the cashier rang it through and stuffed it into a bag of jeans.

Once at the car, they dumped their acquisitions into the trunk. It was still a little chilly in Michigan, the warmer weather they'd experienced in California not quite catching up to them here, so the timing was more or less perfect.

"Hey, Cas," Dean called as the angel opened the door to take his spot in the passenger seat, "catch."

Castiel caught a face-full of heavy beige material. He held it out in front of himself, looking it over, then glanced up at Dean - dumbfounded.

Dean shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck. "Just, you know, you lost your old one..."

Castiel smiled a bit, slipping the trench coat on. It was a little big in the shoulders, as Dean suspected it would be, but it hung about the same as Jimmy Novak's old coat. It looked a little weird on him without the suit and tie to go with it, but sliding into their respective seats in the car, Dean could see that the fallen angel looked more at east with himself than he had in ages.

All things considered, he figured that was a win.

.

(**A/N: **I missed the trench coat. I wanted to bring it back at some point in Wandering Stars, but the opportunity never presented itself in the main story, so I stuck it in here as an in-between :) This one was a little cheesy, but for some reason I imagined Cas being a bit of a diva lol)


	8. Making Out

(**A/N: **So, I blushed a ton writing out this prompt / I'm terrible at this kind of writing lol. This bit takes place between chapter 20 of Wandering Stars and the epilogue, before they head out to Oregon. No specific timeline or location otherwise.)

.

Dean never ceased to be amazed by Castiel since he'd fallen, enmeshing himself into their tiny but fierce little family unit. The fallen angel took every new thing as a challenge, an obstacle to be conquered and worn like a badge in his newfound humanity.

What really threw Dean for a loop, however, was how easily the fallen angel had taken to the physical aspects of their newly evolving relationship-thing (not that Dean would call it a _relationship. _Dean didn't do _relationships_). This newly human Castiel was voracious, an addict for every new experience or taste or feeling that he found enjoyable, such as with kissing.

Dean found himself pressed against the wall of the motel room the moment the door closed after returning from dropping Sam off at the library. Cas kissed like a supernova; hot and explosive and overflowing with thousands of years' worth of pent up energy, unleashed all at once onto Dean's mouth. Honestly, Dean had a hard time keeping up with him sometimes - after only a few weeks, the virgin who couldn't get laid in a whore house was kissing the infamous lady's man as though Dean Winchester was the amateur.

He supposed he should have seen this coming after teasing the fallen angel in the car the whole way back...

Castiel is demanding, possessive; tongue piercing the barrier of Dean's lips without recourse, taking what he wants from his human and knowing that what he takes is likewise freely given by this man for whom the former angel's existence is now eternally tied to.

Dean doesn't submit easily to the unrelenting assault, giving as good as he gets. jackets fall to the floor as the room warms enough to become uncomfortable under the excess layers. Rough hands battle for purchase upon one another; easing between fabric and skin, fingers gliding along toned muscle, nails raking across exposed flesh. His angel knows every touch that humbles, every caress that seizes his breath in his lungs, makes his heart stutter.

The hunter fights back for dominance, bracing his shoulders against the wall for leverage - not missing the low, debaucherous sound his angel makes as their bodies collide - denim on denim.

Dean would never have thought that he'd be the hesitant one once he the fallen angel at his mercy, caged beneath him on the creaky hotel mattress, cool, slender fingers gliding against his skin and pulling him down. He felt a tickle of panic as Cas brought their lips together once more, following as Dean pulled back. Things were moving too fast again, and suddenly Dean was the scared virgin on prom night; wanting but too afraid of _new _to follow through.

He felt like the biggest asshole in the world as he pulled away, but he was too afraid of fucking up... whatever this was between them that their friendship had become. He was afraid of hurting the only person that had ever qualified as what Dean would consider a 'best friend' outside of Sammy. He'd rather have Cas cranky and frustrated at him than hurt.

"Sorry, Cas," he murmured into the fallen angel's ear as their lips parted, "I... can't do this. Not yet..."

The fallen angel stilled, letting out a long-suffering sigh of disappointment as his head fell against the hunter's shoulder, arms slipping around his waist. This wasn't the first time, probably not the last, either. "It's fine, Dean," came the reply each time; patient and understanding, "I will be here."

Dean is grateful, doesn't fully comprehend how he got so freaking lucky to have this baffling anomaly in his life; an angel who fell for him (though Cas would never admit that it had been because of Dean, in the beginning, that had led to his fall), and who stayed by his side with nothing but pure and unconditional love and is still willing to put up with all his post-hetero insecurities.

With a lingering kiss, the hunter stands, turning on the television to some random old movie before climbing onto the bed with his back against the wall, wrapping his arms around the angel that eases in at his side.

Not today, but soon he knows he'll get over it, and he smiles to himself as he imagines how Castiel will take to _that, _if _making out_ is any indication.


	9. Assume' makes an ass out of u and me

Sam was trapped, and there was no way out.

He had been out of the room maybe ten minutes, leaving his brother and the fallen angel alone with each other while he took a shower. Ten minutes, and now he was awkwardly stuck in the bathroom, listening while trying not to listen to what was going on beyond the door.

"It won't fit, Dean," Castiel's frustrated voice drifted beneath the bathroom door. "It's too big."

"Dude, it'll fit," came Dean's reply, "it was _made _to fit, you just took it out of there! Just shove it back in."

"I'm _trying._" The bed springs creaked as someone moved.

"Here, lemme see that," Dean grumbled and the springs creaked some more. "Ow! Son of a- Oh, for cryin' out - no wonder it's not going in, Cas! You didn't oil the fuckin' thing!"

"You only told me to 'give it a good wipe-down'," Cas responded dryly, and Sam envisioned him air-quoting with his fore and middle fingers.

"Common sense, man," Dean shot back, "when you've got moving parts like this, you gotta lubricate 'em or the friction's just gonna burn it out. It's like the pistons in a car's engine - remember when I showed you how to put oil in the car?"

An impatient sigh. "Yes."

"Same kinda thing, only in this case it helps the rod slide in easier and keeps it from getting stuck."

Oh, God...

Enough was enough. Sam pulled on his jeans and t-shirt, wrenching his eyes shut and covering them with one hand as he threw the bathroom door open. He'd had enough innuendo and metaphor to scar him for weeks.

"Sam, uh, what are you doing?" Dean asked as his brother clomped out of the bathroom with his eyes shut, as though he'd just walked in on something traumatizing he didn't want to see.

"Just getting my boots and I'll head to the cafe or something," Sam hastily replied, groping for his boots near the door, eyes still firmly clamped shut.

Dean turned to look at Castiel, who shrugged, returning the confusion.

"What's with the 'see no evil'?" Dean watched, trying not to laugh as his little brother nearly toppled over forward trying to yank the left boot onto his right foot in his hurry.

"You guys could've given me some warning," Sam shot back testily, giving a sour bitchface in what he presumed to be the direction his brother's voice had come from.

"Warning for what? And while you're there, can you toss Cas the gun oil?"

Sam paused, stricken at first, and then actually thinking about what he'd heard in a different context.

Cautiously he opened his eyes, and his face flushed beet red. Dean was sitting against the headboard of his and Cas' bed, a hunting catalogue spread in his lap while Cas sat at the other end of the bed, a disassembled pistol laid out in parts in front of him on a towel, fidgeting with the slide lock and chamber.

Oh. My. God.

Sam facepalmed, feeling like an idiot, then grabbed the little white bottle off the coffee table and tossed it onto the bed in front of the fallen angel.

"So, um, yeah," he mumbled, unable to look at his brother who he _knew _was going to give him crap about this, "you two want anything while I'm out?"

After receiving a pair of negatives from his companions, Sam beat the hastiest retreat of his life, Dean's hysterical laughter chasing him out the door.

* * *

**A/N: **So, this takes place a day or two before the first chapter of Road to Nowhere, after they've arrived in Oregon, but before the plot of the main fic picks up. It's not a prompt, just a random cracky idea that popped in my head, "wouldn't it be hilarious if..."

Poor Sam, having to share space with those two 24/7...


End file.
